


поцеловать

by wolvesandgirls



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alleyway Kisses, Cheek Touch is Canon Now, F/M, Jealous Anya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolvesandgirls/pseuds/wolvesandgirls
Summary: Her hand slips into the Deputy Commissioners before she even knows what she’s doing.





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Her hand slips into the Deputy Commissioners before she even knows what she’s doing. Anya swallows and focuses on the crooked streets in front of her, stepping around cobblestones as Gleb awkwardly matches her stride, the woman he was talking to already forgotten and behind them. She doesn’t let go of his hand, and her heart skips a beat when his thumb strokes her wrist.

She was a fool, touching him in the open like this. So casual, so easy. Her breath quickens as she leads them to a quiet alleyway, a feral cat hissing at them as they walk past, and stepping over an old pile of mouldy, wet posters, she finally lets go of his hand, wishing his spell would lease.

He reaches for her elbow, his fingertips light as he moves to face her. 

“Has something happened?” He asks gently, his voice barely lifting above the wind. She looks up at him, curling her fingers around her broomstick as she meets his wary smile, the slight crease between his brows making her breath catch in her lungs.

Her heart pounds as she watches his pink lips part, lips she wanted desperately away from a woman with glossy black hair. She drags her eyes away, taking a step away from him. If she knew what the Deputy Commissioner smelt like...

“We can go back to my office?” He suggests, and his patience overwhelms her, and she chances a look at his lips again. He doesn’t turn away, his barely-there-smile falling as she frowns at him. “It- It wouldn’t be like last time, Anya. You’re safe.”

Last time.

She feels the ghost of his fingertips trace her cheek, her chin. A heat that had lingered long after she had left his office, long after she begun walking past him again in the streets, long before she saw his friendliness extend towards another woman.

She thinks of his fingers on another's skin, and she burns; unfamiliar and wanting and…

Her eyes flick up to his. He is patient -- far too patient -- and smiles politely before looking back at the street. She had dragged them both away from work. But he hadn’t stopped, hadn’t complained. He had held her hand, fingers tracing bone.

“That woman you were talking to,” she starts, her voice harsher than she wanted. She meets his confused gaze, clearing her throat. “She seemed sweet on you, comrade.”

The too-casual offer of his name dies on his lips, and the pride in her belly swells as his cheeks warm and redden.

“I mean, it’s- it’s my job to know what’s happening in the city.”

A too-easy, abashed smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and Anya’s stomach growls. She steps closer, her grip on her broom loosening, and the smell of tea and oil and ink fills her. “Some of our comrades are more willing than others when it comes to matters of treason, but-”

“Gleb,” she cuts him off, biting her lip, catching how his eyes momentarily brighten at the sound of his name. The thought of him offering his name like it was his hand to the glossy-haired woman makes her stomach turn, and she drops her broom to the ground.

She grabs his lapels and pulls her down to him, his lips -- warm and dry -- crashing into hers. He stills against her, and her stomach drops as his hands rest on top of hers lightly. She pulls away, but he chases her lips, and her breath catches as his hands move to her back, the space between them disappearing.

He pulls her to him tighter, his hands dropping to her waist, balling up the worn fabric of her coat. He tugs gently and Anya gasps, his lips pressing against her nose, her cheek before finds her lips again, holding her tight to his body. Her fingers crawl under his coat, and his moan rips through her, her bones vibrating in her skin.

Kisses hadn’t felt like this before. Kisses were nice; warm and comforting when such things were in low supply, like borscht that was mostly hot water. But Gleb… “Anya,” he breathes, and her borrowed name sounds so real when spilling from his lips. She pulls him to her again, devouring the name, pressing it into the bullet holes that marred her body.

She wants someone to see. Wants someone to walk past and see him holding her like this, the perfect officer with authority nailed into him, back broken just to reach her lips. She wants them to be jealous, that her, a nameless street sweeper, was the one to break him.

Her stomach twists, and her feet move on their own, a separate entity pushing him against the concrete building. He sighs softly in her mouth as he sinks against the wall, and she tastes a future in his mouth, on his tongue, feels a life with him as his trembling fingers rest against her neck, tilting her face to him. Every moment could be like this. Wanted and adored, and Anya tilts her chin for him, longing to taste the possibilities on his tongue again.

His hand brushes along her cheek and the soft touch shocks her away from his mouth, a gasp caught in the heated air between them. She reaches up, touching her lips, soft and sore, and Gleb’s lips press against her fingers.

A kiss was a kiss, nothing special in winters where people were desperate for a warm touch. But his shaky breath washes over her, tea sweet and warm, and suddenly her lungs are in her throat -- burning and unfamiliar. Her hands lose their grip on his coat, her feet stumbling backwards as they find the ground.

“I- I’m sorry,” Anya says. She brushes her hair over her shoulder, leaning down to pick up her broom with shaking hands. She stands again, forcing herself to meet impossibly dark eyes, burning in the cold air. “I was out of line.”

“Not at all, Anya,” he says softly. Her eyes don’t move away from his lips, puffed and grinning, his tongue poking out to savour what was left of the moment. 

Splinters dig into her hands as she grips the broomstick tightly. “Then perhaps we should’ve done it sooner.” She swallows the tremble in her voice, burying it deep within her. She couldn’t afford to miss him. He was a liability, a distraction. A dangerous dream that felt less abstract than ones that had come before.

“Perhaps,” he says quietly, a dazed grin still lingering at the corners of his reddened lips. “Still, I’m glad we- that’s to say I…” Anya glances away as Gleb smiles at his boots. Her hands itch to touch him, and she clings to her broomstick as if it’s the only thing keeping her alive, smiling tightly as he glances up at her under thick eyelashes. “Maybe, next time, you’ll let me kiss you first.”

 _Next time_. His voice was heavy with promise, authority, desire, and Anya pushes her broom into the ground.

She sweeps along the crooked cobblestones, the soft pull of Gleb adjusting his uniform making her breath hot enough to turn the air to fog in front of her. But magic left Russia so long ago, and she holds her breath in her lungs until the burning starts to hurt rather than linger.

“We should both be getting back to work,” Gleb says, his soft words echoing in her ears. She hums in agreement, dizzy and desperate for oxygen. She wants him to hold her, give her one of his too-easy smiles, one of his too-intimate touches, kiss her until she melts into him and is something other than just a pretend princess.

 _Next time_. Next time was a dream dreamt too late.

Spots, black and red and blue, bloom in front of her eyes, and Gleb leans down, brushing his lips against hers. “Does that count?” He asks, and she focuses on crinkles around his smiling eyes, tries not to breathe, tries not to drown him in a wanting exhale of breath. 

“I don’t want it to,” she admits, her voice foreign to her ears. He smiles -- too big, too eager, too close -- and brushes her hair behind her ear, his hand softly lingering by her face. They were intimate now, she had crossed that line, dragged him over with her. His thumb traces a faded scar along her cheekbone, down her jawline, and she curses herself for wishing it was his mouth, his lips, his tongue. 

She turns her head away, forcing her broom into the ground, turning leaves and snow and mouldy posters to mulch beneath hard strokes. His hands falls to his side, and he begins to walk away, before turning one last time. She looks up at him, and her fingers slip as she takes in the wide smile warming his handsome face.  
  
“You know where to find me,” he says quickly, blushing before turning back to the street. Back to real life, where Deputy Commissioners and street sweepers were not friends. Back to women distracting him from his patrol, and the memory of her tongue distracting him from his work.  
  
She almost laughs, but she had held her breath for this long already.

**Author's Note:**

> This started because... of something, but was finished because Cheek Touching is Canon now.
> 
> Chat with me on [Tumblr!](https://wolves-girls.tumblr.com)


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